


Bittersweet

by Benedicthiddleston



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Comfort, Hurt, M/M, Moriarty revenge, Post-Reichenbach, Revenge, two character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benedicthiddleston/pseuds/Benedicthiddleston
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One thought. Two bullets. Three words. John regresses to a past state only to be met by a wall of indecision. If Sherlock is dead, what more in life is there for John? One-shot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to ff.net on 2/29/2012 - transferring all worthy fanfics to A03/deleting ff.net account. 
> 
> Betaed by Reichenfeels
> 
> Don't own Sherlock Holmes or John Watson. Fanfiction of BBC Sherlock.
> 
> Post-Reichenbach, but totally AU to the upcoming 3rd series.

_Two shots._

_He was sprinting down the alleyway, breathing hard already from running over five blocks, trying to reach the address he had been texted only a few short minutes before. He ran harder, ignoring all thought, all burning pain in his lungs, every little thing that could stop him in his forward race against time._

_Then he heard a third shot and he burst into the open street, screaming as he saw the scene before him._

" _SHERLOCK!"_

John straightened his back, held his head high, and slowly advanced towards the door. The cane was back. He felt the unbearable pain and winced as he walked. He was a soldier. He had bad days. Today was a bad day.

The door before him, Dr. John Watson took a deep breath, threw the cane against the wall in the small, unattended apartment, and shoved the door open, ready to face the day.

_A snicker in his ear. A flash of a gun. Pain. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground. He tried not to move. He didn't try to talk. He tried to focus. Focus on living._

_Another ringing shot, with an unknown destination. A laugh. A voice he would forever resent, if he lived._

_And then another voice echoed in his ears, calling his name. "SHERLOCK!"_

_Hands were soon on his abdomen,_ familiar _hands, with the blood almost gushing out of the hole the bullets had created. "Sherlock, oh no. Everything is going to be fine…" John's voice faded. He could hear the almost sob. The heart break. No ambulance would be coming for Sherlock Holmes._

John slowly climbed the stairs, his hand on both rails, breathing as the pain got to him. He was trying so hard for it not to get to him; if Sherlock could do it, he could certainly brave this climb, brave the unbearable, crippling pain.

The day felt like yesterday - When Sherlock had shown up out of nowhere after three years of being dead, John had immediately punched the consulting detective in the face. For good measure, of course. Then he'd tackled the consulting detective and whispered in his ear, "You've been gone far too long."

Sherlock had gotten up off the ground, dusted himself off, and shrugged. "If only I had known this would affect you so much, John."

_John couldn't hold back the sobs. Sherlock would die, and there was nothing in John's arsenal of medical knowledge and skills to stop the ongoing process. "Sherlock, talk to me, say something, anything."_

_The body before him coughed and heaved, shaking with regret. "Catch Moriarty."_

_John nodded, but he knew it was fruitless now. Sherlock needed him_ now _, not later._

_Without a second thought, John gently picked up Sherlock in his arms, holding him close. "It wasn't supposed to end like this."_

Three days. Three days after coming back from the dead, Sherlock met in a stand-off with Moriarty, hoping to finish off the lies and deceit, end the game Moriarty had started too long ago. It had ended in three shots, two into Sherlock's abdomen, one into a nearby wall, and Moriarty in the wind.

John now stood at the edge, looking down. He could see the spot clearly. The view was different from the roof. He stepped up, calming his already shaking and fried nerves. It _was_ supposed to end like this.

" _Maybe destiny said yes."_

 _John let out a shuttered laugh. "Shut up, Sherlock. Just shut up and know that you were the best thing to happen in my life." The tears were full on. This was_ really _happening._

_Sherlock managed a weak smile. "Do it for me, John. End Moriarty."_

_John nodded again. He couldn't speak. This just wasn't the right time._

" _I love you, Dr. John Watson." Sherlock's voice was growing quiet, his mind slowly growing distant, his eyes getting fuzzy. The end was bittersweet. There was no destined time but this_.

"Sherlock, I didn't get to tell you something. I've sat around for the past year trying to wrap my mind around your second, but real, death. I have tried so hard. But I just need you to know. I'm coming."

John looked up towards the sky. He gently stretched his arms out.

"I love you."


End file.
